


Better Late than Never

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, idk probably some angst, jack/bitty is mentioned, johnson the metaphysical goalie is briefly present, light mentions of internalized homophobia, no bad tho, takes place during spring semester of bitty's freshman year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dicky's freshman year was tough on Suzanne Bittle. She missed him so much and he was spending Easter break in Samwell instead of coming home and oh, that stung like nothing else, knowing that it would be months before she would see him again. Her husband was gone for a football conference of some sort and her son was a thousand miles away and she was just so lonely.<br/>So she broke her own secret rule. Don't go looking for Dicky's video blogs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Late than Never

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic i've published for this fandom! the wonderful characters belong to Ngozi Ukazu, i'm just borrowing them for a little bit! :)  
> unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. im sadhipstercat on tumblr, come talk!

Dicky's freshman year was tough on Suzanne Bittle. She loved her son fiercely—she always had and she always would. But it was hard coming home from work, from errands, from book club with her friends and finding the kitchen empty, Dicky's room cold and closed off. Maybe it would be easier if he had chosen a college closer to home. Maybe it would have been harder. He didn't visit much, or call much, or Skype much. He must be busy. And it was fine, really. She was ready to let her little boy spread his wings and face the world! But it did leave an ache in her chest when the only communication they had for a stretch of two weeks was via their Pintrest board.

 

She'd always wanted a big family with lots of kids—Mama Bittle had a lot of love to go around. But...that didn't seem to be in the cards for her. Which was fine. It just meant she could love her little boy all the more and pray for lots of grandbabies. And, oh, did she love Dicky. She loved his bright smile and cheerful disposition and his little spitfire spirit. She loved his passion for baking and figure skating, and, apparently, hockey. She missed him. 

She missed him so much and he was spending Easter break in Samwell instead of coming home and oh, that stung like nothing else, knowing that it would be months before she would see him again. Her husband was gone for a football conference of some sort and her son was a thousand miles away and she was just _so lonely_.

So she broke her own secret rule. Don't go looking for Dicky's video blogs.

 

They were easy to find. A few quick searches on Google ("Eric Bittle baking" "baking tutorial Eric" and finally "omgcheckplease baking" turned up a YouTube channel with dozens of videos. For some reason he'd latched on to that username once he made the switch from figure skating to hockey and used it for everything).

She started with Dicky's first video from Samwell. She curled up on the couch, her old buggy laptop in her lap, cuddled up with a blanket. 

"Hello, internet land!” Dicky exclaimed from the small screen. She smiled at his obvious energy and excitement. He had cried at their goodbye two days before but now there was nothing but anticipation in his expression. She watched the whole video, laughing as he recounted meeting his team—all nice people, he was quick to remind them, just....different. And a little smelly.

The next few videos were back to baking. The kitchen he used was unfamiliar but he explained, "I've all but moved into the Haus kitchen by now! The guys don't mind because that means they get first dibs on anything I make." Dicky shook his head in exasperation. "They've grown on me, those boys."

He turned to the door as a small rap sounded on the wood. 

"Oh, hi, Johnson!" he said to a man just out of the frame. "You need anything? A piece of pie? A cup of coffee?”

Suzanne chuckled. "There's my boy! Those Yankees can't get rid of his southern hospitality that quick!"

"Nah," said the man in a completely nondescript voice. "I just wanted to drop by, introduce myself to this portion of canon. You only ever talk about Shitty, Rans, Holster, and Jack on your vlogs, did you know?"

"Uh. No? I'm sorry if I made you feel left out, Johnson! Everyone, this is Johnson, our goalie."

"Nice to meet you," Johnson solemnly told the camera, his face still not quite in the frame. He left and Dicky blinked. 

"What....was I talking about again?"

\--

Suzanne burned through the videos quickly. He didn't update as religiously as he did in high school—he must be really busy what with practice and classes and games. He said as much, droopy-eyed and tired one morning, recounting an unexpected practice with the captain. Suzanne laughed at her own intrusion to his videos during her family weekend visit. She knew he didn't really mind having her in his videos, and it _was_ pretty funny.

About a dozen videos in, she was feeling better and contemplating going to bed. Just one more, she decided, and clicked the link. 

Dicky shifted uncomfortably, staring into the camera.

"So. Ransom and Holster tried to find me a date to the Winter Screw. It. It didn't go well."

Suzanne perked up. Girl trouble? She started mentally preparing a speech about finding value in being alone and how no one had to be in a relationship to be happy. No matter that this was a few months ago. Reassurance and love was better late than never. On screen, Dicky sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"One of the reasons I wanted to go to Samwell was its ranking as US News & World Report's #1 most LGBT friendly campus in America for the last three years."

Suzanne frowned, unsure where he was going with this. Had his teammates said something rude about his choice in school?

"I'm from a small town in Georgia....in the South....and my dad's the coach of the high school football team. So. I didn't really have much room to be myself."

Suzanne sat up, every trace of sleepy content gone. Confusion and just a touch of panic flashed through her.

"So I thought I could do that  _here,_ even if I was on the hockey team. The only thing is....I've kind of waited all of fall semester to come out to my teammates. Oops."

 

She paused the video. Stood up. Walked aimlessly around the room a few times, keeping her breathing carefully steady. 

She started the video again.

Face red and embarrassed, Dicky explained about Winter Screw and that it was his friend's role to set him up for it. He paraphrased a conversation with two of his teammates about it. In a pretty good impression of that handsome defense lineman, Justin, he said, "so come on Bits—what's your type?"

Dicky, back to himself again, he folded his arms, embarrassed frustration in his voice. "Men."

Slowly, she closed the laptop.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Her first reaction was anger. She was his mother! His best friend! Why didn't he tell her? Something as important as that? 

Just as quick as the anger came, it vanished, replaced with worry. 

He was scared, wasn't he? This was Georgia, after all. He didn't feel safe, not here, not at home. Would he _ever_ be safe here? 

The worry rolled over into sadness. Her baby boy, hiding such a big part of him for so long... She pressed her knuckles against her mouth, fighting off persistent fears. A terrible, sick ball of guilt and shame settled in her stomach. 

She hadn't. Well. She didn't hate _anyone._ It was her policy to be polite to everyone she met. But she'd done some things and said some things that she wasn't proud of. Things that seemed harmless at the time about....certain types of people. And those things probably hurt him. The tears won the battle and she let them. "Oh, baby," she murmured to the screen. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I never would have said.....if I had known....I couldn't have guessed, Dicky, I'm so sorry. If you had just _told_ me…"

She shook her head. How _could_ he have told her? How did he trust her now, love her? Every terrible word about "those types of people" she and Coach had said around Dicky. How long had he been hiding and hurting? How long had she been blind? When did he first realize? When did he know he was....that he belonged to the group of people so causally discriminated against by his own flesh and blood.

 Her mind flashed to Dicky, seventh grade Dicky, shaking and sobbing and sick. One of her worst memories.

"Who was it?" Suzanne had demanded of him, righteous fire in her eyes. "Who did this to you, baby?"

Dicky shook his head stubbornly. He was never a tattletale, no matter what terrible thing they did to him. But this. This was too far.

"Eric Richard Bittle, tell me who did it! Tell me who locked you in that closet  _right now!_ "

He cried harder and she dropped to her knees, enfolding him in a tight hug. 

"Why? Why would anyone do this to you?" She whispered into his hair. He shook and shook and didn't answer. 

He never told her who did it or why.

Now, she could guess. 

 

She cried for a few hours. She didn't sleep that night. She almost called him half a dozen times. But she could never seem to make herself hit the call button.

As much as it hurt to admit, there was a reason he hadn't told her himself. He didn't think she was ready to know. Maybe he was right. 

 

The next morning she nursed a cup of coffee and thought about what to do. She decided the best course of action was to wait. He would come out to her in his own time. Right? He would eventually, wouldn't he?

In the meantime, she deleted her history so her husband didn’t accidentally run into Dicky’s vlog and forced herself not to watch more of his videos. There were his private property and it was wrong of her to watch them in the first place. He had trusted her not to snoop and she'd broken that trust and invaded his privacy. "At least I've learned my lesson," she muttered to the empty kitchen.

\--

 

To: Dicky (8:16 am)

Hope you're having a nice break up at Samwell. We miss you. Can't wait to see you this summer, hon.

 

From: Dicky (8:20 am)

Thanks mom. Sorry I had to stay. I volunteered to lead some tadpole tours over break. Hope you and Coach don’t get too lonely without me!

 

To: Dicky (8:21 am)

We love you, Dicky, me and your daddy both. You know that, right?

 

From: Dicky (8:22 am) 

Of course! Love you too, Mama :)

\--

After that, Suzanne couldn't help but wonder if Dicky was hiding something else from her. Throughout his high school years, she had missed out on the motherly duty of nagging him about his girlfriends and teasing him about his love life, because he never seemed interested in dating. Too busy, he always said with a small smile. And now she wanted that experience. She wanted to hear him gush about his crush of the week. She wanted to impart wisdom on asking someone out and talk him through his first date. But there was no easy way to tell him that he was allowed to do that. She knew he thought she would treat him differently for liking boys—and, yes, it had been a bit of shock, but Suzanne Bittle was nothing if not resilient.

So her son liked boys instead of girls. She could adapt to that. It might take some time. But the surprise of it was already wearing off.

Suzanne had been to Samwell. She'd met the hockey team and seen that they were all kind, strong, and admittedly attractive young men. It was possible, even probable, that Dicky had developed a crush or two. She would have if she was in his place. Dicky took after her in a lot of ways and she'd eat Moomaw's week-old cobbler if inadvisable crushes wasn't one of them.

 

Idly, she scrolled through their old text messages, wondering if there were clues as to whom, if any of them, had caught Dicky's eye. 

He certainly did mention Jack Zimmermann a lot. And with an unusual amount of smiley faces, even by Dicky standards. 

Hmm. Wasn't he the son of that charming, drop-dead handsome retired NHL player? 

She smiled to herself, remembering the slightly awkward young man she had met on family weekend. He was quiet in person but on the ice he had lit up with energy and focus. He was a good boy, she could tell.

Dicky had good taste in men.

He took after her in that way, too. 

\--

She smiled to herself and resolved to call Dicky later that day. They had a heart-to-heart that had been a long time coming.


End file.
